


Personal Notes (6) Can you feel that?

by longhairshortfuse



Series: Carlos's Secret Diary [6]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Awkward Crush, Carlos's fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:17:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1674422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longhairshortfuse/pseuds/longhairshortfuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos meets Cecil unexpectedly, with (by now) predictable results, and his fantasy relationship with his fantasy Cecil is developing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Personal Notes (6) Can you feel that?

**Author's Note:**

> ok so I just wanted to write some filth...

Earthquakes

This strange community has kept us very busy again. The apache tracker, who vanished weeks ago along with his home, reappeared but subtly changed. Although recognisable in features, instead of a white man he looks like a Native American. Also, he appears to have suffered significant psychological trauma as he is unable to speak his old familiar English or Spanish, communicating exclusively in Russian. He made a statement but nobody recorded or translated it. Ell has gone in search of him for an interview, armed with a dictaphone and a translation app. 

Two of our postgrads, a materials scientist and a chemical engineer, have been studying bloodstones. They are most unusual items, any object incorporating a bloodstone in its mechanism requires a drop of blood to function. They began with simple levers: bottle openers, hinges and door handles, to find out what minimum volume of blood was required for successful operation. I fear they may soon be too inebriated to take valid measurements. Tomorrow I will suggest they use the microtome to slice it and have a look at the structure in the electron microscope.

The big energy science news is that there is, apparently, a pulsar development facility under the town on the verge of developing an artificial neutron star 4 miles in diameter and with half the mass of our sun. If it is possible, to harness such a source of power would be a fantastic opportunity to transform the town. However, it would be more likely that such a star would destroy the earth and change the structure of the solar system dramatically. It is odd that my energy field sensing equipment has been completely quiet, leading me to think that the neutron star story is a cover for something else, something more dangerous and sinister, that might be happening deep underground. There was a devastating earthquake measuring 9.7 on the Richter scale with its epicentre right below the town. At least, it should have been devastating. It registered on our seismometers but nobody noticed any tremors and no buildings were damaged. We need to get down there, under the town, and see what is going on. I do not want this town transformed. Not like that. I am surprised to find that I am developing a fondness for this odd place.

Cecil caught me by surprise today. He was just suddenly there as I took readings from one of our seismometers, looking right at me over my clipboard. I looked at him and felt intense, crippling longing. I wanted so badly to touch him, kiss him, flee and hide. I forced my eyes back to the spikes on the chart paper as he asked me about the recent earthquakes and why residents had not felt anything. He filled my world and I forgot everything I know. I could find nothing to say about the numbers I had just recorded. He said something else, I don't know what exactly, and I gathered just enough nerve to say I'd have to look up some data at the lab and try to figure out what was going on. I must have sounded like an idiot. I have never met anyone before who causes me such sweet disturbance.

I listened to his show tonight. I held my breath when he had technical problems and I wanted to go to the studio to make sure he was safe. He described unusual behaviour of wheat products and said that "scientists" were outside his studio, with clipboards, warning everyone about ludicrous problems linking wheat with snakes and supernatural forces. All of our team members are accounted for and the loaf of bread in my tiny kitchen is unchanged, other than being a little staler than this morning. 

He thinks I don't listen to him. Don't hear him. I was surprised by how much that hurt and told my radio softly that I would listen to his voice forever. I hoped that somehow, in this twisted little town, he could hear me. I went out, went to the radio station and parked nearby. He came out after a while and turned to walk the other way down the street. I watched his hair flick behind his graceful figure but didn't follow. I went home to dream and not sleep.

My fantasy started in the usual way, with Cecil calling me up about something urgent that we had to discuss immediately but this time he invited me to the radio station to talk to him in his studio. I imagined letting him interview me about something scientific, the earthquakes perhaps or the state of current research into gluten intolerance. I wondered what it might be like to be confident and articulate around him. He would tell me it was interesting and invite me to his place to share a take-away and talk some more. I conjured up an image of an apartment that was clean and tidy, unlike mine which has yesterday's shirt and the one from the day before on the bedroom floor, a collection of used towels and worn boxers in the shower room and if I want a clean coffee mug I need to sterilise one of the less mouldy ones that litter the whole place. I managed to be quite civilised years ago when I shared an apartment with Ell, but on my own I'm a slob. 

So we would go to my imaginary Cecil's imaginary apartment, chatting on the way and accidentally brushing against each other occasionally as we walked. The thought of even such accidental physical contact made the hairs on my arm stand up. I imagined that he might take my arm, and I would let him as if it was nothing. Once there, I dreamed, as usual with a few false starts and mid-fantasy alterations... 

Cecil opened the door and held it for me to go in first. He came in and closed the door behind us. I waited for him in the hallway and he said to go into the lounge and sit down. I did as he asked. We sat opposite each other at a table with takeaway cartons between us, talked and ate. Cecil said I looked tense then got up and stood behind me. He kneaded my shoulders and said I looked like I could use a back massage. I replied that I agreed with him, I've been busy and a bit stressy lately. He told me to come with him and led me to his bedroom. He said he couldn't do a proper back massage through my lab-coat and shirt, helped me out of my lab-coat and told me to loosen my jeans and remove my shirt then make myself comfortable face down on his bed. He took off his own clothes, down to his boxers, explaining that he didn't want to get massage oil on his work clothes and asking if I minded. I didn't mind, not at all.

I shifted to lie face down on my own bed and wished I had changed the sheets like I meant to over a week ago. I pushed the pillow out of the way and returned to my dream. His room would smell nice. Cecil would start by stroking my back with long, gentle but firm movements from my hips to my neck, covering my skin with oil. Even thinking about him touching my neck made me tingle. As my back and shoulders warmed from the friction of his fingers he straddled me and began to work deeper into my knotted muscles, my latissimus dorsi, trapezius and levator scapuli; rhomboids, deltoids and rotator cuff muscles. Small, deep pressure, circular movements identifying and dealing with tension. Pleasure and such sweet pain all confused together. Then he shuffled further down the bed and I imagined I could feel him almost sitting on my legs as he worked slowly on the muscles down my spine, from my occipital ridge right down to my coccyx. I was hard by this point, my skin crying out for touch both in my dream and in what passes for reality here, trying not to end my fantasy too early by bringing myself off against the mattress. 

In my dream I said that the massage felt wonderful but what could I do in return? Cecil leaned forwards and slipped his hands down between the bed and my hips to stroke my erection, saying he could think of one thing, if I wanted. Yes, I said, I want. Cecil moved back, pulled my hips up and my clothing down further, put a pillow under me and began to massage my gluteal muscles, gently at first then exposing me, using the massage oil to lubricate his fingers enough before one probed into me. Circling, making me want to strain up for more and down to grind into the pillow at the same time. Another finger as I relaxed, playing with me. After a while, when the teasing got deeper and took me close, his fingers slipped out and his erect penis pushed in as he lay forwards onto my back with his face on the back of my shoulder and his arms on top of mine as I reached above my head and gripped the bedstead. I imagined him fucking me, making me rock rhythmically into the pillow under my hips until we both came with a pulsing cry. 

I lay alone in my own bed, breathing deeply, sated for now but without the feeling I desired of having had Cecil inside me. I really had to change the sheets.


End file.
